


You Never Call On Me When You're Sober

by muckkles



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drunkenness, Fenris hiccups when he's really drunk and it's a little cute, M/M, dangerous jaunts through the Kirkwall nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6174679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muckkles/pseuds/muckkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders and Fenris are nothing but thorns in each other's sides until the night Fenris shows up at the clinic drunk off his ass and with no explanation for his presence. Much to Anders' frustration, the visits become recurring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Never Call On Me When You're Sober

**Author's Note:**

> I knocked this out while I was supposed to be writing a paper. It's mostly dialogue so It's short and also not beta'd so take it as you will. Also, feel free to ridicule me for writing a fic based on the title of an Evanescence song. Obviously there's no phones in Thedas so I used the outdated phrase "call on" as in "to visit" instead of just "call."

A loud knock on the door startled Anders out of his daze.

 

It had been a long day at the clinic and Anders felt completely drained. At some point during tidying up a box of cleaned bandages he had become unfocused, gazing off into the middle distance for who knew how long before his unexpected guest arrived. Staring into space was becoming an increasingly frequent activity of his, much to Justice’s frustration. 

 

When the second set of hurried raps sounded Anders managed to push himself off of the cot he was sitting on and shuffle towards the door.

 

“The clinic is closed. Is it an emergency?” he called through the door. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood and willed himself to pull up some last dregs of mana in order to help whatever poor soul was waiting on the other side. He sure had a hard time saying no to people.

 

“Open the door, mage!”

 

The muffled command made Ander’s chest clench in fear for a moment before he realized a Templar most likely would have broken the door down without announcing himself. Besides he knew that voice…

 

“Fenris?” He cracked open the door to peek out and sure enough he was met with an emerald eye glaring at him through a tuft of white hair.

 

“Yes. Who else would it be?” Anders wasn’t sure how Fenris managed to pack that much disdain into half of a facial expression but it was impressive.

 

He raised his eyebrow and answered, “Uh, literally anyone else? Why are you here? Are you hurt?” Anders gave what little he could see of the elf a once over. No blood, no exposed bone, not even any dirt or rumpled clothes that would indicate a recent altercation. Anders couldn’t think of any conceivable reason for Fenris to turn up at his clinic of his own volition if he didn’t require immediate healing.

 

However, Fenris ignored his question and wrapped a hand around the edge of the door.

 

“Are you going to let me in or not?”

 

“Uh, well-“

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes and instead of waiting for an invitation, proceeded to yank the door open and push past Anders into the clinic. Anders sighed and closed the clinic door once more before turning to face the elf. He watched Fenris take in his surroundings, then spin around to address Anders. Except he lost his balance and began plummeting face-first toward the ground. Anders lurched forward to catch the off-balance elf and Fenris leaned against him heavily.

 

“So you _are_ hurt. What is it, your ankle?” Fenris planted his hands on Anders’ shoulders and attempted to shove himself upright. After getting relatively steady he glared up at Anders once more. Anders took a breath and- _Maker_ there was a strong scent of alcohol wafting his way. “Wait… are you _drunk??_ ”

 

Fenris let out a teeny burp-hiccup and cleared his throat.

 

“I… have partaken in some wine, yes….”

 

Anders snorted. “Some?”

 

His snark was met with a narrowed gaze and Fenris bodily shoving himself away. Anders instinctively reached out to help steady him as he swayed but his hands were swatted away. He watched as Fenris stumbled a couple of feet before deciding to just plant his butt on the floor where he stood. Well at least he wasn’t in danger of breaking his neck down there. Hopefully.

 

“So what brings you to my doorstep this evening. Or night. Or probably early morning at this point.”

 

“Are you done rambling?” Fenris sounded irritated but it was pretty much the same tone he had been using since he showed up so Anders wasn’t really sure the level of irritation that was going on.

 

Anders put his hands on his hips, “Did you drunkenly make your way down to Darktown and into my home just to sass me?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Anders rolled his eyes, “You cannot be serious. Fenris, I have things to do. It’s late. We both ought to be asleep as a matter of fact.”

 

Fenris mumbled something under his breath and drunkenly tried to wipe the dirt off the bottom of one foot but only succeeded in making his hand just as dirty.

 

“I’m sorry what was that?”

 

Fenris scowled up at him and swayed slightly where he sat.

 

“I _said_ I didn’t think your spirit allowed you the - _hic_ \- luxury. Given the dark circles always under your eyes. Hmph. Circles. Mages. If I was sober I might could make a joke from that.” Fenris drew his eyebrows down in thought or frustration or perhaps he was just concentrating really hard on not tipping over.

 

Anders was dumbfounded. Not only was a drunk Fenris here visiting him in the middle of the night but he was also revealing that he actually paid attention to Anders’ wellbeing, at least in a very general observational sense. And compared to some of their interactions in the past this conversation was downright civil. Even so it made no sense and Anders was not in the mood to entertain… whatever this was.

 

“Fenris, I’m not sure what’s gotten into you but I really must insist that you head home.”

 

It seemed as if the elf didn’t hear him at first but finally he moved to stand up, almost pitching forward again in the process. He stared Anders down for an uncomfortable minute then turned and headed for the door.

 

“Wait!”

 

Fenris froze in place while Anders grabbed a vial from a nearby shelf and cast a quick spell over it before handing it over. Fenris’ eyebrows screwed up again and he gave the man a quizzical look.

 

“For your hangover,” Anders explained, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “And, look, I know you made it down here in one piece somehow but you should use Hawke’s cellar passage heading back. The streets are dangerous at night. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

 

Fenris harrumphed and pocketed the vial before leaving the clinic. Anders watched for a moment to make sure he made it to the passage before closing the clinic’s doors once more. A brief flash of guilt went through him as he wondered if he should have offered the elf a cot for the night given his state. Honestly though dealing with a hungover and potentially disoriented Fenris first thing in the morning was one of the last things Anders wanted to experience.

 

With a sigh he finished cleaning up then shuffled back to his own bed, exhausted from the day and the brief confusing visit. This was most likely a one-time thing and he resolved not to think about it again, nor bring it up in the elf’s presence if he wanted to keep his heart intact. With that settled, Anders drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

It was not a one-time thing.

 

No more than three days later Anders was interrupted from his nightly cleaning ritual by a loud knock on the clinic door.

 

He cautiously approached, answering as he had previously, “Who’s there? The clinic is closed. Emergencies only.”

 

“Mage,” came the monosyllabic reply and Anders reluctantly cracked the door to see Fenris on the other side for the second time that week.

 

Anders sniffed and squinted. “Are you drunk again?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Anders supposed he had to give him credit for not denying the obvious. He pulled the door open more fully and sighed. “Please tell me there’s a reason this time for you gracing me with your inebriated presence at this late hour.”

 

Fenris shouldered his way past the annoyed mage and walked to the middle of the room as he had before, his movements comically less graceful than when he was sober. Anders deliberately remained standing next to the open door and tried to resist the urge to tap his foot with impatience.

 

“That hangover potion,” Fenris finally said. “It worked. Do you have more?”

 

Anders tried his damnedest to look as irritated as he felt. “And you decided to wait until you were already drunk to come asking because…?”

 

“Because I knew it would get on your nerves,” Fenris replied, though not with his usual ire.

 

Anders huffed and stomped to his shelves.

 

“Unbelievable. You know this is just a modified health potion designed to focus on headaches and facilitate rehydration. You could get the same effect by just drinking enough water before you got completely smashed.”

 

He brought the vial over to Fenris and held it out, ready to kick the elf out again as soon as possible.

 

Except Fenris didn’t immediately take it. Instead he looked around and shuffled a bit on his feet, swaying dangerously and looking disgruntled.

 

Anders snapped his fingers and shook the vial a little. “Hello! Fenris! This is what you wanted isn’t it? Take it and get out of here already.”

 

Fenris frowned and seemed to reluctantly reach for the vial. They stood there a minute more, Fenris staring at the potion in his hand and Anders staring at Fenris and losing his patience.

 

“Well?”

 

The elf seemed to snap out of whatever drunken musings he was having and looked at Anders again.

 

“Mage. I’m leaving now,” he said.

 

Anders almost laughed at the awkward abruptness of that announcement and the oddly determined look on the elf’s face. He watched as Fenris made his careful, wobbly way out of the clinic and shook his head in exasperation.

 

* * *

 

A week went by and Anders, caught up in the day-to-day work of the clinic as he was, almost forgot about both of Fenris’ surprise midnight visits. That is until he showed up a third time.

 

This time when he heard the now familiar knock from the front of the clinic he strode over and flung the door open to glare down at the elf in front of him. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

 

Fenris still had his fist raised from knocking and he swayed on his feet, drunk again, as if that was a surprise at this point.

 

“Let me guess; more hangover potion? I’ve half a mind to send you away and let you suffer through it.”

 

“No, I-” Fenris appeared momentarily flummoxed as if somehow he hadn’t expected such a reaction from the mage. He lowered his arm and stepped inside then looked down and fumbled at his belt for a moment before holding out a purse towards Anders. “I came to pay.”

 

Anders was thrown off guard by that. He looked down at the purse without taking it and frowned, perplexed. “Fenris, I don’t charge for my services. And besides you’re with Hawke.” Sometimes it seemed to Anders that he doled out more free potions and healing to Hawke’s little gang of misfits than all of Darktown combined. Not that he really minded. The effort and expense were more than worth the comradery and validation.

 

Undeterred, Fenris shoved the purse at Anders’ chest and slurred his response, “Take it, mage. You have to take it.”

 

Anders stubbornly kept his hands at his sides. “Fenris, this is ridiculous-“

 

“Take the coin, mage.”

 

“You’ll regret it in the morning if I do.”

 

“You must take it.”

 

Anders crossed his arms. “I must do nothing.”

 

“It will help the clinic.”

 

“And since when do you care about the clinic?”

 

At that Fenris threw his hands up in the air in frustration, accidentally flinging the purse to the corner of the clinic and throwing himself off balance. He stumbled backwards then overcompensated and reeled forwards. Anders instinctively put a steadying hand on the elf’s shoulder and looked into his face to make sure he was okay.

 

Fenris for his part was looking positively green.

 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he said, and promptly was, all over the clinic threshold and Anders’ boots.

 

Anders closed his eyes and let out a long sigh of defeat, praying to Andraste and the Maker and whoever else happened to be listening that they take pity on him for once in his life.

 

He resigned himself to getting the both of them cleaned up and settling Fenris in one of the cots for the night as there was no way he was letting the elf leave the clinic in this state.

 

By the time Anders woke the next morning, Fenris was gone and the previously forgotten purse was sitting neatly in the middle of his pillow.

 

* * *

 

For several weeks after there were no further surprise visits and Anders internally breathed a sigh of relief. He went on a couple outings with Hawke in the meantime and even stopped by the Hanged Man for card night but Fenris never brought up his drunken excursions to Darktown or the purse of silver that was an obvious and unnerving overcompensation for the two measly health potions Anders had handed over. When there was no request for its return after a week or so Anders felt it safe enough to spend on food and supplies for the clinic and refugees.

 

Then once again late one night there was a knock at the clinic door. Anders stopped organizing his herbs and hung his head in resignation. He went to open the door and sure enough a certain white haired elf was standing on the other side smelling of wine but fortunately seeming not quite so inebriated as he had been the last visit.

 

“If this is about the money, I’ve already spent it.”

 

Fenris’ eyebrows pulled together.

 

“What? What makes you think I came here for that?”

 

“Well, if not that, then what _did_ you come down here for?” Anders said, crossing his arms.

 

“I-“ Fenris frowned. “I don’t know.”

 

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Great. Well, thanks for wasting my time and showing up unannounced passed midnight yet again.”

 

Anders moved to close the door on Fenris but the elf stuck his hand out to keep it open.

 

“Wait,” Fenris suddenly seemed hesitant. “Can I come in?”

 

Anders stared at the elf blankly. If the previous visits were anything to go by he wasn’t intending to cause Anders any trouble aside from being a general annoyance. Still he could not think of a single reason Fenris would want to just “come in” and visit with Anders, even while drunk.

 

Shocked and curious despite himself, Anders stepped aside and held the door open. As soon as he was over the doorstep Fenris was back to his usual gruff countenance and brushed past the mage to sit on the cot he had occupied a few short weeks ago.

 

All at once Anders was annoyed again. He closed the clinic door and went to stand before the elf who was busy fiddling with his gauntlets.

 

“So? Did you need something from me?”

 

Fenris just shrugged without looking at the mage.

 

Exasperated, Anders gave up and went back to the task he had been working on before being interrupted. Two could play the silent game and Anders resolved not to acknowledge Fenris was even there until he decided to speak up for himself.

 

About twenty minutes later Anders heard the door to the clinic open and turned around just in time to see Fenris slip through it and disappear into the night. He stared after him in confusion for a moment before finishing his organizing and heading to bed.

 

* * *

 

After that night Fenris began regularly showing up at the clinic past closing, drunk and without even the excuse of asking for a hangover potion though Anders gave him one anyway more often than not. Some nights he sat and quietly watched Anders work. Other nights they talked about all manner of things until the wee hours of the morning or until an argument started and one of them inevitably stormed out of the room. Despite the aggravation and inconvenience Anders eventually resigned himself to his fate and usually let Fenris in without much fuss. Some nights he even reluctantly found to be entertaining if Fenris slurred his speech enough or said outlandish things in his drunkenness. Even funnier was watching the usually graceful and in-control elf stumble and fall on his ass or face.

 

Sometimes Fenris walked home at the end of their talks. Other times he passed out in the clinic. He was always gone before Anders awoke and the mage wondered if Fenris felt any shame over his drunken visits.

 

If the two of them ever had to spend time together during the day Anders followed Fenris’ lead and didn’t mention their nighttime conversations. They ended up in this strange limbo, being almost friendly to each other within their own private late night talks and remaining aloof and antagonistic in the light of day. Although Anders had to admit even the scathing remarks from sober Fenris had eased up considerably and it felt somewhat awkward to throw too biting of an insult after a night of civil, if drunken and occasionally one-sided, conversation.

 

Anders hated to admit it but he started looking forward to Fenris’ visits, which usually happened about once or twice a week depending, he guessed, on Fenris’ mood. It had thrown off his sleep schedule for sure on some days and he could feel Justice’s disapproval of the distraction, but Anders had very little to look forward to in his life and he doubted Fenris would stop showing up even if he asked him to.

 

Eventually, they even started opening up to each other about much more personal topics than Anders ever expected or intended to broach. He became privy to bits and pieces of Fenris’ history, terrible and full of pain as it was, and he found himself telling the elf about his own sufferings and losses. They talked about depression and anxiety and paranoia. Fenris told Anders of the Fog Warriors who gave him his first taste of freedom and whom he subsequently slaughtered, still under the psychological yoke of Danarius. Anders told the story of him and Karl and his many escape attempts from the Circle along with the harsh punishments that followed. Fenris listened quietly, the mood seeming to sober him up at times.

 

Despite their new knowledge of each other, nothing changed by day. Half the time Anders wondered if he was dreaming their conversations or if Fenris was actually too drunk to even remember most of them. Anders didn’t know how much longer he could take it.

 

* * *

 

One night Fenris showed up even more inebriated than usual after having been absent for almost two weeks. Anders refused to admit to himself that he was worried in that timespan and was momentarily taken aback by the relief that washed over him when the elf’s telltale knock echoed through the clinic.

 

Anders let Fenris in and he proceeded to stumble forward until he met Anders’ desk and leaned heavily on it with both hands.

 

“If you’re going to be sick I’d rather you do it away from my manifesto if you please. And also the herbs I use to, you know, save people’s lives and whatnot.”

 

Fenris stood up straight with his customary drunken sway and levelled a harsh look at Anders. “How come _-hic-_ how come I’m always here and you _-hic-_ never come and see me at the mansion?”

 

Anders looked at him in bewilderment. “Um, perhaps because I don’t drink or find it prudent to go wandering around Kirkwall at all hours of the night? Or because I don’t tend to just show up places uninvited like a certain someone I know. Or maybe because if I _did_ show up at your place and you were sober you would kill me. Because of you hating me and all.”

 

Fenris waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t hate you.”

 

Anders quirked an eyebrow. “That’s news to me.”

 

Fenris started and aborted several responses, seeming to grow frustrated with his inability to think clearly in his drunken state. Finally he settled on, “Anders, _-hic-_ I am _here_.”

 

“So you are. Well done. And since when am I ‘Anders’ instead of say, ‘mage’ or ‘abomination’ huh?” Anders crossed his arms and waited patiently to see where this was going.

 

“ _You_ are _infuriating._ ” Fenris clenched his fists and staggered.

 

“Ah, there’s the Fenris I know and love.” Anders grinned, then stumbled backwards as Fenris lurched towards him. However instead of the blow he was expecting, the elf simply clung to his arms and sagged there for a moment, almost dragging Anders to the ground. Somehow the mage managed to keep them both upright. “Fenris?”

 

Fenris glared up at him, “Anders. You understand. How can you not _-hic-_ see?”

 

Anders set his mouth in a grim line. “Okay, you’re much too drunk for me to follow any train of thought you’re having. I think it’s time for bed.” He started slowly maneuvering them toward Fenris’ usual cot.

 

“Anders!”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You’re so _-hic-_ infuriating.”

 

“Yes, we’ve covered this. You hate me and everything I stand for.”

 

“You make me… want to…” Fenris growled, unable to figure out what exactly it was Anders made him want to do.

 

Anders just nodded in mock understanding, “Mm-hm the passion of enmity and all that.”

 

“No!” Fenris somehow managed to grip Anders’ arms even tighter. “Just _-hic-_ just passion.”

 

Anders stopped in his tracks and stared down at the elf in his arms. “Excuse me?”

 

Fenris reached up one unsteady hand and pressed his index finger between the mage’s eyes. Anders went crossed-eyed and resisted the urge to swat the hand away lest he drop the elf like a sack of potatoes.

 

“Mage… it’s so _-hic-_ cute _-hic-_ when you scrunch up your nose.”

 

At that Anders nearly did drop him. He quickly dragged Fenris over to the cot and allowed him to fall unceremoniously upon it. “Okay, you’re clearly not yourself. I refuse to talk to you until you’ve sobered up and come to your senses.” Even as he said the words there was a niggling feeling in the back of Anders’ mind that told him Fenris was speaking his true thoughts just as he had all the nights previously.

 

Instead of entertaining that thought and all it implied, Anders scurried to the back room as quickly as he could with a hurried “Good night!” and a solidly closed door.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Fenris was surprisingly still fast asleep when Anders emerged from the back room. Anders looked down at him and wondered how late Fenris had stayed up after Anders had run away.

 

Anders went about preparing a hangover potion and a waterskin. He stared for a moment in wonder at Fenris' unguarded sleeping expression and then carefully nudged him awake. The elf blinked blearily and squinted with what Anders assumed was pain from a raging headache. He held the potion forward and Fenris sat up and downed it without a word, then quickly took the proffered water.  

 

After a few uncomfortable moments Fenris spoke up, “Mage… do you remember anything from last night?”

 

Anders couldn’t help but scoff a little. “Well I wasn’t shitfaced so, yes.”

 

Fenris frowned, “About what I said-”

 

“You mean how you love the way my eyes sparkle like firelight through whiskey?” Anders instinctively resorted to old habits and seized the opportunity to tease the elf in an attempt to diminish the uncomfortable atmosphere.

 

He expected Fenris’ customary anger to flare but instead the elf turned bright red and spluttered, “D-did I really…?”

 

Anders held up his hands and laughed, “Woah, no, but the fact that you think you might have said that is kind of hilarious.”

 

Fenris stood up abruptly and Anders took a step back in surprise.

 

“I’m glad my humiliation is entertaining for you,” he snarled and turned on his heel toward the door.

 

Before he knew what he was doing Anders had grabbed for Fenris’ elbow and the elf spun around, yanking his arm away and appearing two seconds away from ripping the mage’s heart out for daring to touch him.

 

Anders held his hands up again, “Wait Fenris, just. We all say stuff we don’t mean when we’re drunk and it wasn’t right for me to laugh at you. I have this bad habit of making jokes when I’m anxious. And besides you’re kind of objectively gorgeous so I don’t really mind getting a compliment or two from you, you know?” He chuckled nervously.

 

Fenris’ expression smoothed out somewhat but he continued to glare.

 

Finally he asked, “You… think I’m attractive?”

 

Anders swallowed. “Um… Yes?”

 

At that Fenris spun around once more and walked straight out of the clinic without another word. Anders stood there wide-eyed for a long time wondering if he had actually saved his skin or just signed his own death certificate. Then patients slowly began trickling in after a couple minutes and Anders shook himself from his daze in order to start attending to them.

 

* * *

 

By the end of the night Anders had all but forgotten the incident from that morning until a knock rung out through the empty clinic. Anders froze where he stood, tempted to pretend he wasn’t home and delay his imminent demise for at least one more day.

 

After a second knock he heard Fenris call, “Mage! I know you’re in there.”

 

Anders sighed in defeat. “You don’t know that,” he mumbled, shuffling towards the door and cracking it open ever so slightly.

 

A single bright green eye met his through the crack, much like the first night Fenris had shown up at the clinic.

 

“Anders.”

 

“Fenris.”

 

Fenris huffed. “Are you going to let me in?”

 

“Sorry, just working through some déjà vu.” The elf seemed to be in a reasonable mood, or at least he didn’t seem murderous, so Anders risked opening the door the rest of the way.

 

He was surprised to see the elf wasn’t wearing his customary spiky armor, but just a simple black tunic and leggings. He was also carrying a large basket. He strode past Anders and the mage tried to peer inside as he passed. “What’s in the basket?”

 

“Dinner.”

 

Anders’ brow furrowed. “Are you sober?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Everything about what was happening right now was strange to Anders and he was beginning to feel uneasy, like he was falling into some kind of trap. Fenris was going to snap any second and he would be dead.

 

“You never call on me when you’re sober.”

 

Fenris turned around and shrugged. “You’ve never given me reason to.”

 

“I never gave you reason to call on me while drunk either but that didn’t stop you.”

 

The corner of Fenris’ mouth twitched up in an almost smile and Anders’ mind reeled.

 

“Anders, there is something we need to discuss.”

 

“You’re telling me.”

 

Fenris huffed again. “Could you take this seriously, please?”

 

Anders shuffled his feet a bit and closed the clinic door. “Sorry it’s just,” He hesitated, not wanting to break whatever sense of civility had seemed to come over Fenris – he had said _please_ for crying out loud – and then blustered on, “You’ve been showing up on my doorstep wasted for months now with no explanation. At first it was irritating but then I thought we were sort of connecting. Except during the day when you usually still treat me like mabari shit you accidentally stepped in and now have to scrape off your heel.”

 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Colorful.”

 

“And _then_ you called me cute.”

 

Fenris levelled a look at him.

 

“ _You_ called _me_ gorgeous.”

 

“Well-“ Anders opened and closed his mouth a couple times but he really didn’t have a response for that. It had happened and Anders wasn’t about to take it back because, well, it was true.

 

Fenris held up a hand. “Anders. I came here tonight to apologize for my behavior and to make a confession. I can’t say why I made my first visit to you. I don’t really know why I did it myself. I do know that my drunken self seems to know what I want a lot better than my sober self, although he’s not as adept at expressing it.”

 

Anders chuckled, “You could say that.”

 

Fenris set his basket down and stepped forward. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you outside of my visits. I was afraid you would not respond well to it. I thought you hated me, and I felt I could only face you when stripped of inhibitions. When I could rely on drunkenness as an excuse. That said, I never initially drank with the intent of coming to see you. But every time I drank I ended up doing just that.

 

“I’ve enjoyed talking with you. I feel like I understand you more now than before, and you, me. We have more in common than I realized.” Fenris smirked. “And you’re cute.”

 

“A-ah.” Anders couldn’t believe where this conversation was going. Was Fenris seriously saying what he thought he was saying? Did he just call him cute _again_ while _sober_? Anders tried to laugh away the fluttering in his stomach. “Not to worry! All is forgiven. Um.”

 

Fenris was right in front of him now, mere inches separating them. Anders’ eyes skittered away nervously. This was not happening. There was no way this was happening. He was dreaming, he was-

 

“Anders.”

 

He snapped his attention back to the elf in front of him and stared into bright emerald eyes. His heart hammered in his chest and his fingers twitched with the need to run them through that silky white hair.

 

“Command me to go and I shall.”

 

Anders released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

 

“ _Maker_ , no.”

 

At that Fenris reached up and yanked on the front of Anders’ robes, pulling him down into a hard kiss. Anders gasped and wrapped his arms around Fenris’ waist to pull him closer. The heated kiss soon gentled into something softer until eventually they pulled away for air. Anders leaned his forehead against Fenris’ and closed his eyes.

 

“I think you need to come over sober more often.”

 

Fenris chuckled and dragged him down for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're trying to figure out what exactly Fenris was trying to tell Anders that last drunken night, it essentially boils down to: "Of course I don't hate you, can't you tell that from the fact that I'm here visiting you, why would I visit someone I hate." and "You understand me, we understand each other. Why can't you see that I've fallen for you/we would be a good match/etc." and "You're so attractive and also oblivious and it's infuriating."


End file.
